


Something Like Redemption

by Captains_Orders



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-20 05:13:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4774928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captains_Orders/pseuds/Captains_Orders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She never thought that it could be like this, but Max is solid and gentle and nothing like what she expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First

**Author's Note:**

> My first ever crack at smut and I can't believe it's this long.  
> This will eventually be part of some sort of one shot collection (like I needed another one) but for now have it as it is until I can work out the details.  
> I just really needed to write their first time.

Her small bed creaks under her weight when she drops onto it with a sigh, rubbing at her aching shoulders as far as her reach will allow. The day has seemed endless; the council meeting had lasted for three hours worth of trade and defense debate prompted by the recent attack (albeit small) on the Citadel. Repairs had been tedious and she spent the rest of the afternoon elbow deep in the new rig’s engine, she’d hardly taken the time to rinse her arms and face of grease before retreating to her room. It’s not long before the door creaks and Max slips in, greeting her with a grunt before stripping his jacket and tossing it onto her work bench, a habit he quickly picked up when he started staying with her. A louder creak echoes through the sparsely furnished space when he plops down beside her with his own weary sound. Laughter comes suddenly, a soft sort of chuckle that grows until she can feel tears gather in her eyes. Max’s own low sounds of mirth fill her ears and they laugh together for longer than she can ever remember laughing. Perhaps some of his madness has rubbed off on her because they laugh until her sides ache and when they finally stop they’re leaning against each other and breathing hard. 

“Mm what’s so funny?”

“I feel old.” He snorts and bumps her lightly with his shoulder and shakes his head. “I’m over ten thousand days.” She tells him, it’s an impressive age for the life she’s lived, the old Citadel was not designed for longevity and yet here she is. It takes him a long moment before he responds, and it’s the kind of silence she’s come to recognize as him thinking, maybe counting out the days to see how old they both have become.

“Not old hmm, we’re weathered.” The joke is not lost on her and she laughs against him before straightening to face him so she can cup his cheek in her flesh hand.

“Old for the Wasteland.” She tells him as her fingers run through his hair. He hums and nods his agreement, before grasping her prosthetic hand in his and raising it between them.

“Strong.” He says firmly and she kisses him. It’s soft and slow and not they’re first, but there is something different in the way their lips meet now. Chapped lips part and she tastes mint on his tongue, a chewing habit picked up by most in the Citadel now that the herb grows wild in the gardens under Dag’s care. With a contended sigh he leans into her but doesn’t push for more, he never does, content for her to set the pace. Since their first kiss he has always let her lead, and for the first time she wants, she needs, she isn’t sure what, just that it’s more. She moves her hand more firmly into his hair, pulling him closer to her and deepening the kiss until their teeth clack together and their chests are pressed tight. He groans into her mouth before pulling back, looking at her with a question in his eyes. The straps of her prosthetic undo easily under her well practiced fingers, it’s the only answer she can give right now, unable to find the words for what she wants. His head tilts and his eyes widen when she tugs her shirt over her head without preamble. He gapes for a moment until she reaches for her bindings and then he’s a blur of frantic movement, shucking his boots and letting his leg brace clatter to the floor with a thud.

When he faces her again they are both only in their pants and she gives him no time to react before she’s kissing him again, pressing close until her breasts are pressed against his chest, heat shooting through her the moment their skin touches. She leans back and he follows, until they are lying on their sides as they kiss. It’s a little strange at first, the angle awkward and her hand clumsy as she runs it down his side. He shudders under her touch, her name slipping from his lips on a low sigh. Suddenly she knows exactly what she wants.

“Touch me.” She whispers softly in his ear. A sharp inhale at the hollow of her throat, and then his full lips press against the same spot, large calloused hand coming up to cup her shoulder as he moves to kiss her again. His movements are tentative and unsure while she grows bolder in her exploration of him, hand running with more confidence across the expanse of his torso. 

Blunt nails dig into his chest when his hand brushes the side of her breast as their kiss grows more heated. She rolls onto her back, expecting him to follow, but he stays on his side beside her, hovering over her only enough to chase her mouth with his. It can’t be comfortable, but it’s not until she makes to draw him closer that she realizes how free the position leaves her. There is no cage of limbs around her; her good arm remains free by his position on her left, her legs not bracketed by his, his free hand kept far from ever caging her in. Consideration is not common in the world, in the new order of the Citadel there is kindness, but she has not experienced this kind of thoughtful care since she was a child. All she can do to repay it is to kiss him again, nipping and soothing in equal turns. The hand at her side now runs across her breast like a breeze and she gasps. He hums in approval at the sound, mouthing a path across her throat, her collar, finally joining his hand on her chest. She moans loudly, can’t contain it, but it spurs him on, his touch now solid and sure as he teases her breasts with his fingers and tongue. It’s a foreign feeling, the sudden pleasure shooting through her straight to her core. Slick heat gathers between her legs, and she needs more.

When his hand slowly moves down across her side and comes to rest on her thigh blood is pounding in her ears, perhaps desperate to escape back to its donor. He breaks their kiss, his plump lips now red and swollen, and she is almost mesmerized for a moment by what she has done to him, running the tips of her fingers against his mouth. He catches one digit gently between his teeth and sucks. Her hips buck on instinct and the gasp that escapes her is all the encouragement he needs. Thick fingers lightly move under her waistband to stroke against her tender flesh and her world is fire, white hot and blazing beneath his touch. He’s focused on her face, watching her, gauging her reactions. He works her slowly, each new pass of his fingers building her pleasure, feelings she never knew drawing out a plethora of panting sighs. She freezes when his cock brushes her thigh through their pants, unable to stop the reflexive panic. Her hand that had been cradling the back of his head is suddenly at his throat. He pulls back immediately, fingers stilling within her, eyes searching her face.

“I can stop.”

“No! I don’t want you to stop, I want this.” She won’t let memories of days past taint this, no matter how horrific; she will burn out the ghost of Joe with the fire of her fool. The  
answer leaves him unconvinced, that look she can’t quite place still in his eyes. She realizes where her hand is then and cringes before moving it to the back of his neck, stroking in what she hopes is a soothing motion, the rough tip of a brand she’d never noticed against her fingertips. He sighs, lets his head fall forward against her shoulder but remains still. The fire is back in her core and she bucks her hips, hoping to encourage him to resume his actions. He groans, meeting her eyes with one last question which she answers by pulling him in to another kiss. A hum passes from his lips to hers and his fingers resume their languid strokes within her. Hot lips are on her skin, brushing soft kisses against every patch they can reach, the thumb of his left hand brushes against that bundle of nerves with each stroke. His fingers crook forward as he sucks hard at her neck and she feels like an overheating engine, revving and bucking against him until the pressure in her core crests and slams like a burst of nitro. A cry comes unbidden as he works her through it, nipping and teasing her skin as she rides out her first orgasm.

When she comes back to herself he’s lying beside her again, head propped up on his right hand while his other runs softly up and down her side, eyes tracing her features with an unmasked tenderness. It’s something she’s not familiar with, tenderness from a man. She half expected him to take her immediately. It’s what she knows men do, they take, but Max has only ever given. The one time he tried anything else he’d all but stopped himself when he rode off in the rig without knowing the kill switches. 

“I told you, I want this.” And she does, she wants to know what it’s supposed to be like, when it’s wanted and gentle and she cares. 

A nod and a hum, but he remains where he is, hand still languidly brushing against her. So she takes the initiative, leans forward until their lips meet once more, hand pressed to his stomach for balance. Slowly he rolls onto his back, cradling her head as the kiss deepens and she feels the heat in her core return, one hand has moved to her breasts but still he won’t do what she wishes him to. She decides to make him, her hand slipping down the muscles of his abdomen and beneath his pants, grasping his hard cock and sucking roughly at the spot beneath his ear. He lets out a load gasping moan, hips jerking forward, hand flying back to the meager sheet beneath them. The look he’s giving her when she pulls back is of surprise and hunger, like she is water in the wastes, but not a thing, never a thing.

“I want you, Max.” Four words of truth enough to finally spur him into action. He rolls away to remove his pants, and she follows suit, throwing them carelessly just as he comes back to her. Max is a solid wait between her thighs, fingers back to working at her center, a contrast to the soft kisses he is currently peppering across her face. She only tenses slightly when she feels him bare against her, urges him on with an iron grip on his shoulder. 

“Hey, hey, I’m with you.” He soothes while his thumb runs across her cheek. Her eyes had closed without her notice, but she is here with him, not a living nightmare of bound limbs and endless screaming rage. When she meets his eyes and holds his stare is when he finally moves, nudging closer between her legs until she can feel the heat of him against her. There he remains, letting her grow accustomed to the feel of him, slowly moving against her until she demands more with a buck and a groan.  
There is no pain when he finally enters her, the stretch of him burns, but it doesn’t hurt and it baffles her. Their foreheads meet like they have countless times, but in this moment it’s more intimate than any kiss. He pulls out slowly, and eases back in, picking up a gentle rhythm that soon has pleasure sparking through her like a blaze. Moans escape her unbidden with every stroke, echoed by his own sounds of pleasure. The pressure builds, she can feel herself growing close to that blissful peak once more when he stills. She lets out a frustrated huff, but before she can voice her displeasure he is rolling back and pulling her with him until she’s on top of him.

Confusion furrows her brow when she settles, but he’s looking at her with hooded eyes, waiting for something she doesn’t know. He bucks up into her and she groans, bracing  
herself with her hand on his chest. The new angle is different, but no less enjoyable as she slowly rocks above him, groaning loud when his right knee bends to brace behind her and he thrusts up into her. It goes like that, shifting like the wind across the dunes, their sounds filling the usually quiet room, rising closer to that peak together until he sits up suddenly to meet her. Breaths mingle as they rise and fall together, she is close, can feel herself clenching around him and he is rumbling beneath her. One hand slips between them to rub at the spot above where they are joined while his other grips her hip and pull her down as he thrusts up one last time. Her cry echoes in the room and this time the quaking shocks of her pleasure are joined by his own, nails dragging down his labeled back, grunts and groans mingled with her name filling her ears as they come together in the truest sense.

They lie in the aftermath, sweat slick and sated, and she feels something warm blossom in her heart. With the strength she has left she lifts away and rolls to rest beside him, head pillowed on his arm. 

“I’m, hmm, I’m crazy… ‘bout you.” He tells her after a time, the words are slow to come like it costs him dearly to say it. But she knows, understands him well in his hesitancy, and appreciates the sentiment all the more though she is not sure what the odd phrase means. The word choice makes her laugh though, just a little, and the smile stays on her face when she leans up to see him. He looks at her in such a way, with the smallest ghost of a smile, so completely focused on her that it almost steals her breath.

“Fool.” She murmurs fondly, kissing him until he hums before resting her head on his chest, the steady thump of his heart a soothing song beneath her ear. Finally she finds the word for what she’s feeling, lets it echo every breath of content as the steady rise and fall of his chest lulls her to sleep. Happiness is what it is, warm as the wastes and rarer than water, but strong as their old battered souls.


	2. Eden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Furiosa gives him his own place in the gardens, and he makes it theirs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is entirely and utterly all youkaiyume on tumblr's fault because I cannot resist fabulous smut art.
> 
> And this has turned into a smut collection apparently? I honestly never expected that but am not particularly surprised.  
> This also took far longer to write than I expected and ended up way longer than I planned but I'm pretty happy with it. 
> 
> Unbetad

The Citadel comes into view on the horizon as it always does, its brilliant silhouette standing tall and proud against the rising sun. A now familiar warmth settles in his chest at the sight of it, something he tries to ignore most times he returns, but not today. The ghosts are quiet, and the only presence in his car besides his own is the meager but precious bag of seeds in the passenger seat. Citrus is what the man he’d traded for them had said, but it doesn’t really matter, seeds are seeds and every single one is treasure in the Wasteland. Dag will make something of them no matter what they are, he finds comfort in that. 

A patrol meets him soon enough, two cars flanking him in escort back to the Citadel. Toast is driving the lead car, flashes him a thumbs up before gunning ahead of him to pass through the gates first. People bustle and stare as the vehicles rumble in and he tries not to focus on the crowd, only on the car in front of him, Toast’s arm out the window waving him to follow her to the garage. He’s hardly pulled to a stop before he hears Cheedo shout a greeting, waving at him with wide grin. How long was he gone this time? Shorter than his last trip away he thinks, the days are lost to him, but he guesses it was long enough to be missed, and that makes him try and fail to fight off a small lip cracking grin. Silence descends when he exits the car and he shifts nervously until Cheedo appears in front of him with a former war pup at her heels.

“You’re back! And quicker just like I said!” She’s beaming up at him, eyes shining like she knows a secret. 

“Hmm.”

“Oh leave him be Cheedo, he won’t say anything anyway.” Toast says as she comes to stand with them, rubbing the grease from her forehead with the back of her arm. 

“But I was right.”

“And Max is Max.” Toast responds before peeking into his car. “What’d you bring this time?”

“Seeds, citrus I think.” He replies, leaning in the still open door to pluck the bag from the passenger’s seat and hand them to Cheedo. 

“There’s so many!” She says, and there’s not, not at all, but hopefully there will be more, coaxed from whatever grows from them. “Dag’s been hoping for lemons.”

“Hmm maybe, dunno.” He doesn’t remember those, doesn’t know if he ever saw one, but he thinks they might have been yellow.

“Won’t know ‘til they grow is what Yani always says.” 

“Dag always knows.” Cheedo replies, squinting at the bag like she might be able to guess before she holds it out to the wide eyed pup. “You can hold them, Spike, they won’t bite. There see, not even heavy. Now let’s go run these to Dag, yeah.” She nudges the young boy forward with a hand on his back before taking his free hand and leading him off with a parting wave over her shoulder. It’s him and Toast now, and she’s grinning like she knows something too and he shifts from foot to foot because there is a secret he does not know. A burst of laughter beside him and Toast is wiping at her eyes. 

“Furiosa’s up with Capable checking on the pumps, probably on her way here now. Well go on, don’t keep her waiting.” She winks and shoves him forward with a laugh and he can’t stop his cheeks from flaring. Toast’s laughter follows him out of the garage, up a few levels until his cheeks are hot from exertion. 

Soon enough, just as Toast had said, he spots Furiosa heading his way, meeting him when he reaches the lower bridge to the Water Spire. She smiles when she sees him, warm and welcome, greets him in her way, their way, a hand at the base of his skull and her forehead against his. The weight of the wastes drops off of him instantly, banished by her touch. He wants to kiss her but doesn’t, hums his contentment instead.

“Come with me, I have something to show you.” She says when she pulls back, hand running once through his hair, smile wide and eyes shining, before she turns away. He follows without question, and she leads him up, past where he’s been in this tower, until they emerge in the uppermost level underneath the sun and amongst the green. From here he can see the newest crop of life flourishing on the War Spire, Dag’s careful and rigorous work showing now more than ever. 

“It’s good.” He grunts in acknowledgement, humming to the scent of the various plants around them, almost ripe for harvest.

“Fool.” She chuckles with a shake of her head and beckons him after her with a crook of metal fingers and he follows her through long fronds and fresh leaves until she disappears through a wall of foliage. The green parts easily for him, the cool sharp feel a fresh change to his dust worn fingers, and when he emerges it is to a small clearing of grass, a hidden alcove of sorts. There is an array of saplings peaking up from the grass, young leaves reaching to the sun, protected from the scorching heat by the shade provided by the older growth. It’s beautiful. 

“What is this place?” He asks, turning to take in all of it before looking back at her. 

“It’s yours.”

“Mine?” He grunts in confusion.

“You deserve a place to escape, and these,” She catches the delicate leaves of a sprout and strokes them softly. “are the product of what you’ve brought to us.”

“Hmm.” A grunt is all he can manage, the words of thanks stuck in his throat, like his words always do. His last gift had heralded death, and he strokes the cord around his wrist and fights the urge to run. Then he remembers a fully loaded bike rumbling beneath him, and the warm protective weight of a black scarf around his neck. She has been giving him gifts of varying meaning since they met, from his life, to a bike, his name on her lips, and her body against his. But this, this is something beyond what he’s ever been given. A quiet place free of ghosts, away from the horrors of the wastes and the noise of the Citadel, and he can’t quite grasp the magnitude of it. Her voice brings him back to the present, earnest and stern.

“You’ve earned it, a place of your own here.” She pauses until he meets her eyes and he can’t look away. “You deserve it, Max” His name on her lips and he is lost.  


He raises his hand slowly, cupping her cheek tenderly before kissing her. She meets him halfway, as she always does, and he gets lost in the feel of her against him as he always does. She has become his oasis, the place he strays from but always returns, unable to stay gone no matter how hard he once tried. He’s long since abandoned the thought of leaving the Citadel and not looking back, he will always come back to this place, to her, and now to this little piece of Eden she has built for him.

They shed their clothes quickly but not deftly, hands bumping in their haste to expose skin to hungry mouths. Harsh marks sucked onto supple skin, as she strips his jacket and he works on the straps of her arm. It’s an intimacy they only allow each other, the removal of their outer armor. Soon they are bare and he takes the time to admire her form, run his hands up her sides and stroke the twin scars for the first time without fear. She shudders against him and tugs at his bottom lip, low hums passing between them as they kiss and touch. He tugs her closer with a hand around her back and she gasps sharply at the brush of his cock against her thigh, kisses him that much fiercer. The world tilts as she drags him down with her onto the green earth, moaning sharply at the feeling of cool grass against bare skin, a feeling lost from long ago. He barely catches the fall with his free hand, too distracted by the woman beneath him.

Laid beneath him like this she takes his breath away, wreathed in green with a smile on her lips and eyes filled with want. Her hand is in his hair, pulling him closer, blunt nails scratching at his scalp as they kiss languidly beneath the sky. Furiosa hooks a long muscled leg around his thigh and pulls him forward until his cock meets the slickness between her thighs and he groans. She’s soaked, in no need of his teasing touch to ready her, he rocks against her gently anyway, revels in her breathy sounds. The head of his cock brushes against her clit and she arches with a moan, squirming into his touch as he takes a nipple into his mouth, sucks a mark into the smooth skin of her throat. 

“Max.” She gasps in his ear, tugging sharply at his earlobe with her teeth and yanking his head away from her neck, grip hard in his hair. The meaning behind the sharp gesture is clear and he shifts between her legs until the head of his cock is against her entrance and slips inside her like a well oiled piston. 

Echoed moans fill the sweet green air and they find a rhythm quickly, and he marvels at how easy it is to be with her. He is lost in the feel of her, lost with her in their little corner of the world, their piece of Eden. She is sucking a mark into his shoulder, nails biting into his arm, and he is overcome with the sudden need to see her, meet her eyes while they find their pleasure. Planting a final kiss against her pulse he pulls back, sees the confusion cross her features before he tilts her up and right with the arm under her back, and hooks her left leg over his free arm. Her lips part and her lashes flutter, hooded eyes locking with his and she is beautiful. Lacing their fingers together he leans in to kiss her again, tongues brushing as it deepens and flares until he can’t hold back any longer and lets his hips snap back to hers, deep and slow. The angle must be right because she pulls back and moans loud, core fluttering around him and he groans his pleasure with her, eyes closing against the sudden onslaught of feeling. Someone could hear them, they aren’t quiet, not when he begins to thrust in earnest, hands and hips all locked and tangled together. Their eyes meet again and hold and he tries to keep the pace slow and steady, captivated by the look of ecstasy on her face. She’s close, he can feel it, hear it in the way her breath stutters and her moans change pitch and he’s not far behind. shifts his angle just enough to hit that secret spot within her and she throws her head back with a cry bursting from her lips, clenching tight around him as she comes in shuddering waves, hands clasped in a bruising grip. It spurs him to his own release, the sight of her in the troughs of her orgasm, the feel of it, hips jerking hard as he spills himself deep inside her, almost shouting out his pleasure. It’s loud and hard and someone could definitely hear them and he doesn’t care, not when she’s still shaking with aftershocks beneath him. Furiosa is panting, same as he is and he kisses her anyway as he frees his hands, right arm asleep and left hand sore but her lips are soft and tanged salty sweet, perfect against his. Rather reluctantly he falls onto his back beside her and stares at the sky as the sweat dries on his skin.

“I take it you like it.” She says when her breath evens, and he laughs, short and sharp, turns his head in time to see her smile. 

“Mhm, my own Eden, better hmm, with you.” Everything is better with her, but he won’t voice that, not now. She blushes at that and her smile widens briefly before she speaks.

“Eden? What does that mean?” 

“Story they used to tell, ‘fore everything fell apart. A garden mm, with everything… paradise.” 

“Like what the Green Place used to be.”

“Yeah.”

“I like that word. Eden.” 

“Our Eden.” He agrees and she is Eden herself, giving this to him, but there is no paradise without her.

He rolls back above her, kissing her again, unable to resist the sweet curve of her lips, content to revel in their piece of Eden until the rest of the world fades away. A sharp gasp escapes his lips from shock rather than pleasure, hand flying to the sudden cold prick at his shoulder and feeling wet. Most likely fallen dew from the surrounding trees, but there is another lower down, and then another, and soon it is a constant steady sting of cold and wet and it takes Furiosa’s wonder filled gaze at the sky for him to realize its raining. He leans back to look up and water, real rain, is pattering against his face. Furiosa is laughing, and looking at him with the same shocked awe he feels and the mad world in which they live has gone that much more mad. But here with her, amidst impossible rain in an alcove of green, here is truly Eden.


	3. Desperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A near death experience leads to a desperate need and revelations they aren't ready for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I have a weakness for desperate angst smut and needed to write it.  
> Probably the smuttiest thing I've written and I have no shame.  
> First time switching between povs in the same chapter, but I like how it turned out.
> 
> As always, foolishly unbetad

The Wretched are not so wretched anymore, not with steady nutrients from the new Council’s equal food and water rations. They are people again, lively and filled with hope despite their half-life fates. Life beneath the spires of the Citadel flourishes and Furiosa comes down to observe the work and the trade posts as often as she can. Max follows, shadowing her when he’s not working in whatever spire that recruits him for some project or another. He likes watching her, a pillar among the people who adore but don’t worship her, she’d never allow that, but she has fallen into her role as protector, the redeemer, almost seamlessly. The Citadel may be run by the Council, but there is no question it is held together by Furiosa and her influence. The crowd is still overwhelming, only bearable when he’s at Furiosa’s side, too many noises, too many voices, the telltale click of a cocked firearm. Instinct sparks an automatic response, screaming protect instead of survive, his shoulders drop and he throws himself into Furiosa hard, fire searing through his left arm as the shot meant for her tears through his flesh. He doesn’t stop, pushes himself up quickly, follows the second click, path cleared as the crowd flees, no time to draw his own gun, so he ducks down and tackles the assailant. They hit the ground hard, and he wrenches the double barreled sawed-off from the man’s grip, slams it into his face with all his strength. His vision is red, overcome with sudden rage as he beats the butt of the gun rhythmically against flesh and bone and all he can hear are screams. Ghosts of many faces shout in his ear, accusations and blame, all deserved, all too much.

“You let us die!”

“Where were you?!”

“You killed us all!”

“She’s dead because of you!”

“You killed us!”

“Max!”

“Max!”

“Max!” It’s her, metal hand tight around his upraised wrist, face shimmering into view like a mirage. “It’s ok, I’m alright, we’re alright.” She’s kneeling in front of him, hands on his face, cold against him, his skin is warm and wet and he is shaking and shuddering, hands unsteady as they come to grip her arms. Finally his eyes focus on her face, furrowed with concern, lip split and cheek bearing a nasty looking bruise. There’d been another attacker, he hadn’t even noticed and his dull awareness sets him off again. It is the first attempt on Furiosa’s life, certainly not the last and he can’t bear the thought. “Hey, stay with me.” Furiosa soothes, forehead pressing against his, and he tries to ground himself to the feeling, to her touch, to the fact that she’s alive. When his breathing somewhat evens she pulls back, forehead now smeared with red, an Imperator’s paint of death. Blood and bone, he can feel it now, coating his face and hands, now tainting her with his brutality as well. The sight of it sends him reeling, it’s too loud, too much, he’s burning, agony, the scent of blood suddenly too sharp in the air. He sways, falls, Furiosa catches him and he can hear her calling to him, but it’s faint, drowned out by the voices in his head, and then silence.

He wakes to the cold press of metal against his lips, water, he sips and swallows on reflex.

“Good.” An old familiar voice says from his left. “Drink it all. Good, now this, it’ll help.” The next liquid is thick and bitter but he drinks anyway. It only takes a moment to remember what happened and then he’s scrambling, throwing himself forward only to be pushed back by strong but gentle hands.

“Furiosa?” He croaks when he can speak, a frantic need to know, to see her standing and whole.

“She’s fine thanks to you.Worried, but she’s fine.” He sags, let’s the two Vuvalini bustle about him, finishing bandages, removing a blood drip, tossing him his shirt that he hadn’t noticed was missing. He dresses as quickly as his wounded arm will allow, it burns with pain, but he can move it at least, that’s something to be thankful for. He needs to see her, needs to make sure she’s alright, the ghosts are back in whispers and he isn’t sure of anything, needs to see, to touch, to know. 

-

She paces, she can’t help it, too many thoughts going through her mind at once. The Sisters had insisted she return to her room, that she rest after the ordeal, after being forced from Max side to deal with the aftermath. People wanting her dead is something she is no stranger to, it is a fact of the Wasteland, a fact of her life under the old Citadel regime, but an assassination attempt is something else entirely. She hadn’t expected that, perhaps she should have, maybe it made her a fool to think that wasn’t a possibility but it’s something she’s never seen. No one dared to even stand against Joe until she freed the girls, and perhaps that’s the price she would pay for not being a tyrant, the irony only makes her angry. Then there is Max. Max who saved her life again almost at the cost of his own. It had been too close, she’d almost lost him, had to scrub his blood from her arms, and it put too many things into perspective. So she paces like a caged dog, waiting (she hates waiting), and worrying, and desperate to see her fool be fine.

The door creaks and there he is, standing, strong, alive.

“Max I mph-” He’s fast in his stride forward and cuts her off with a bruising kiss. His lips are harsh against hers, nipping and sucking and its perfect, just what she needed. Her split lip opens against the harsh sucking bite of his mouth and now there's copper on their kiss and need burning through her veins. She nips at his plump lips in retaliation and he growls, crushes her against him and kisses her fiercely. Hot tongues meet as they kiss and she sucks his into her mouth hard, relishing his sharp groan. It sets him off, his control snapping, lips seemingly everywhere at once and he’s sucking hard at her neck over her pulse like he’s making sure it’s still there. It is, thrumming wildly beneath her skin, calling out to his touch. 

His hands hover over her hips, fingers flexing against cloth covered skin, a question he can’t voice right now. She answers by pushing his jacket off his shoulders, tugs his shirt up and off. He responds immediately, hungry lips back on hers, unsteady fingers working frantically at her pants without much luck. She abandons her work on his pants to work the straps of her prosthetic, the metal and leather fall away quickly, leaving him free to tug her pants down in record speed. He backs her up and she lets him, likes the solid strength of his body against hers, wants to feel him all and know he’s still with her, wants to forget the feel of him limp in her arms and bleeding out into the sand. Cold metal bumps the back of her thighs and she gasps at the unexpected feeling, and then Max is urging her up until she’s sitting on her desk with him standing between her legs. She shivers, not so much from the cold under her bare ass, but his hardness pressed between her legs and her own slickness all but dripping down her thighs. Without preamble she snakes her hand into his pants to wrap her fingers around his cock and he pulls away from her lips with an almost animalistic sound. She’s in no need of readying, has no desire for it, she just wants him, needs him now. He pulls her in close and she tugs at his cock, guiding him to her until he pushes in and she has to grab his arm to ground herself. They pause to saver the feeling, but it doesn’t last long, and he’s pulling out and pushing back in, setting a hard fast pace, and she can do little more than cling to him and enjoy it because she needs this just as much as he does, this harsh coupling. 

It’s the first time their intimacy can truly be called fucking, and their sounds of pleasure fill the air mingled with the slap of skin and panting breaths, louder than the creak of the old desk beneath them. He’s holding her tight, left hand on her thigh while his right arm remains wrapped around her back, while his hand goes from clutching tight at her back to stroking the smooth short hair at her nape. The need to touch is overwhelming, the stump of her arm remains hooked around his neck, but her hand wanders, fingers threading through his unruly hear, tracing scars on his broad chest, nails digging into the firm skin of his back. She can’t get enough, the despite need is electrifying, incredible, makes every beat between them that much more. A sharp roll of his hips on every thrust puts a delicious pressure on her clit and she gasps into his ear and the sound sets him off, and he’s rumbling against her, a constant stream of grunts and groans and powerful thrusts. 

It speeds up impossibly, so much rougher than she’s used to, but its good, so good and her hand clamps tight around his bicep until she sees blood peeking through the bandage above her grip and his moans cut to a hissing in her ear before his hips snap forward hard and he bottoms out. A cry tears from her throat, drowning out the creak and snap beneath them as the back leg of the desk finally gives out under the strain, tipping them both sideways before he catches them and finds his frantic rhythm once more. 

She’s close, so close to that blissful edge. He is too; she can feel it, hear it in the distinctive hitch in his breathing. But she’s not ready yet, so she pushes him away as he pulls out and he stumbles beck, eyes her with concern as the haze of lust lifts just enough. She stands on shaking legs, unsteady for only a step, before she takes one of his twitching hands in her own and guides him around the table to her work bench. One push against his shoulder and he sits, stares up at her with unbridled need, lets her straddle him, caresses her left harm as she guides herself down on to him. They moan together at the reunion, for once he’s louder than her, and then she moves. The pace she sets is just as hard but slower, drawing out all the feeling she can, knows he needs her to fuck him just as she needed him to fuck her, knows he needs to feel her in control and alive. Plush lips are back on her throat before they drop suddenly to her chest over her heart, mouthing against the cloth, muffling his little groans as he bucks beneath her. She’s losing him to his own mind, but she won’t, needs him with her for this.

“Max.” She says, tugging at his hair until he looks at her with wild eyes. “Stay with me. It’s alright, I’m here.” Each assurance is punctuated by a slow lift and fall of her hips. She leans in to kiss the furrow of his brow, his temple, his cheek, tastes salt on his damp skin and it’s not until she pulls back that she realizes he’s crying.  
Head bowed he shudders beneath her, choking back sobs in gasping breaths and clinging to her like she’s all that’s keeping him together. Immediately she slows, lets her movements settle into a gentle rocking as she pulls once more at his hair until he looks at her.

“Hey, shh, stay with me. Look at me.” Sliding her hand to cup his face she strokes his stubbled cheek, swipes her thumb out to brush at his tears. There’s a sharp hitch in his breath, but he doesn’t look away, and she regains the speed of her movements, desperate to reach that peak with him. She forces him to hold her gaze until it looks like he might break and she immediately drops her hand down to the base of his neck, rubbing soothing circles against his brand as they rock together. Fire sparks through her veins as he bucks and twists beneath her, muffling little cries against her throat and clutching her tight, the hand once on her thigh now digging into her ass, bringing them impossibly closer. 

It’s good, so good, and she’s so close, fluttering around him, and she can’t hold back her own cries.

“Max!” She moans sharp in his ear when he hits just the right spot. Maybe it was just as good for him or maybe it was the sound of his name but he’s coming hard with a loud drawn out sound, and the feeling, the gasp of her name as he twitches beneath her, triggers her own release and she peaks with an almost scream. Sagging against him she tries to catch her breath, shudders in the aftershocks of her orgasm. He’s relaxed against her now, hands now longer clutching but stroking up and down her back as his own breathing evens out. 

“Can’t- can’t lose you.” He whispers against her shoulder like he hates to say it, but she knows he needs to. She can’t fault him because she feels the same, would feel his loss sharper than that of the Green Place, but she also understands the fragile state of his sanity, his madness a known fact, a state that has its ups and downs but is forever constant. Madness is a part of him as fury is a part of her, and she- she accepts it with all of him, her mad Max, the name the Citadel whispers on his comings and goings, now inevitably with a hint of fear due to his ferocious display this morning.

“Max,” She brings her hand back to cradle his face again so he’s forced to look at her once more, and she can’t help but trace her thumb against his parted lips. “I’m here. You won’t lose me.” Perhaps it is a lie and less of a comfort than she intended, but doesn’t look away or speak out against her answer. So she leans in to kiss him, softly now, with none of the hunger from before, just a gentle assuring press of lips that he accepts and returns with equal care. If it weren’t for the burning strain in her thighs she’d be content to rest like this for the rest of the day, but she pulls herself away, and they both mourn the loss of intimacy, but she tugs at his hand when she finally stands and leads him over to her bed. He reaches for her the moment they lay down and she lets him pull her into a warm embrace, soaks in the feel of his warm body against hers. For now they can rest, and she nuzzles closer to him, tired and sated, and they are safe for now, safe and together and that is all that matters in this moment.


End file.
